


Dance Lessons

by CheekyTorah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: DO NOT COPY, Do not repost, Don’t Copy, Don’t Repost, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 20:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20431733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheekyTorah/pseuds/CheekyTorah
Summary: Harry hadn't anticipated seeing Draco Malfoy here of all places.





	Dance Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to the patient and wonderful [OllieMaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieMaye/pseuds/OllieMaye) for Beta Reading this story and for giving it a fabulous name! The positive comments and help with the technical and grammatical stuff that I tend to be useless with was such a huge help and I appreciate you so much!
> 
> This story wouldn't have come to light at all if it wasn't for [meandminniemcg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meandminniemcg/profile) proving me with such an inspiring prompt! 
> 
> This is my first real Drarry so I hope I did it justice! Enjoy!  
Xx

His footsteps echoed in the long, empty halls and classical music floated through the air. Harry admired the rooms full of happy teenagers dancing to their hearts’ content. He walked down the hall of England’s finest Witch and Wizard Ballet School, heading to the Dean's office; he had been summoned to discuss the expansions they need to create the perfect learning environment for the finest ballet dancers of the future.

Harry had killed Tom Riddle. He had, with the help of many, saved the Wizarding world. Though he had help, he was still ‘The Saviour’ and with that came certain privileges and benefits. Now a man of thirty, he was filthy rich and wanted for nothing.

He had money; too much money really, so he put it into creative arts, educational, environmental and LGBTQ establishments throughout the country—establishments like this, for witches and wizards who wanted to do something that wasn’t a typical career choice. They didn’t have dance or art in Hogwarts, they didn’t encourage artistic expression, and that in itself was a tragedy. Harry greatly appreciated the muscles that moved under the skin on slender bodies dancing to beautiful melodies. He’d been to his fair share of performances, pulled his fair share of dancers. 

Dancers like that. Harry stopped in front of a studio to appreciate the view of the man at the front of the class—the sinfully fit teacher. He could only see the man's back, and oh, what a back it was. When he turned around, Harry’s eyes travelled up the elegant man’s muscled legs, over his spandex shorts which clutched a large bulge and followed the trail of hair leading to his navel. As Harry’s eyes continued over the man’s scarred chest, scars that reeked of familiarity, he rested on the man’s pointy face. 

Fuck.

Immediately feeling embarrassed and guilty for leering at the stupidly hot man, Harry looked away. Instead, he concentrated on the floors and the ceiling, but like a magnet, his eyes were pulled back to appraising the blonde again. Draco Malfoy. Who knew long dark robes or schoolboy uniforms concealed this? His body was like a work of art: lean muscle, pale skin, long legs and elegant fingers. Full kissable lips. Of course, he didn't look the same; they were no longer boys. Malfoy had really come into his body, in all the best ways. 

As Harry studied the graceful man’s features, liquid silver eyes snapped up to meet his. He felt himself shiver and was soon covered in goose flesh but met those eyes full on. He was an adult; he didn’t have to pretend he didn’t find a man attractive, even if that man was Draco Malfoy.

He smiled at Malfoy’s curious expression, turned on his heel at the sound of his name being called and followed the suited woman to the closed office.

~*~

Harry was knackered. It had taken far too long to discuss the matter of a new wing and dorms for the school. As a rule, the school was run by a board of directors, so Harry did like to ensure every dollar he invested went to what they said it would, and not into the pockets of a slimy CEO.

The school was eerily quiet, the echoes of his steps even louder than before. Without a glance, Harry passed the studio Draco had been teaching in. Well, he had every intention of passing by, of going right out of the school to the Apparition point and popping home. Till he heard a quiet sultry tune drift from the room. Like predator to its prey, Harry was drawn to Malfoy. 

He opened the door and sat in the comfortable chairs along the wall, legs splayed carelessly apart, and rested his elbow on the table to his right. If Harry hadn’t been watching the man as he stood with his back to the entrance, he might have missed the way his shoulders and back tensed when he walked through the door, the way his thighs flexed and he paused for the briefest of seconds before continuing to practice en pointe. If he hadn’t caught those subtle things, he might have assumed Malfoy had no reaction to his presence or possibly hadn’t known he was there at all. 

Malfoy was fluid, like the water of a stream. He moved as if it were second nature to move that way. His muscles moved sensually under his skin, his right leg pointed high above his head as he dropped his upper half to a 90-degree angle. He had perfect balance. His body was strong and fierce, as well as refined and stunning. Harry sat, mesmerised. 

Through deep schooled breaths, Malfoy spoke.

“Enjoying the show, Potter?”

Harry hummed in response, not trusting his voice or his oxygen-deprived brain to come up with an articulate response. He shifted in his seat to a more comfortable position. 

“I didn’t know you had an interest in dance.”

“I have many interests, Malfoy.”

“So it seems,” Malfoy chuckled as he turned to face Harry and began his cool-down stretches. 

Harry didn’t even pretend not to look at this point—why else would he have walked through that door? His eyes studied every muscle, every bone, every hair as Malfoy stretched and contorted his body. His ankles, his calves, his forearms—Malfoy was magnificent, like a sculpture in an art gallery. Even pink-cheeked and out of breath, he was beautiful, maybe moreso because of it. It made Harry very curious if Malfoy had the same expression when he was driven crazy with desire and teased to the brink of completion. 

Finished with his stretches, he pulled off his ballet slippers, tied them together and draped them around his neck. He strode over, grabbed his bag, stood in front of Harry and looked down expectantly.

“Just because you put money into this place Harry, doesn’t give you the right to stay when all the staff have gone.” Draco eyed the door pointedly. 

Momentarily shocked at the use of his first name, Harry stared at Malfoy—Draco—before a lazy grin etched across his face. He stood and headed towards the door, pausing only to get one more good look at the man before he left. Godric, that was quite the ass.

“—just have to stop at my place first,” Draco was saying as he rooted through his pack. 

Harry pulled himself out of his thoughts. _ What? _He blinked in confusion.

Draco smirked knowingly as he pulled his shirt over his head and pulled sweats up to hang carelessly low on his hips. Merlin, even in sweats and a t-shirt, the man looked sexy. 

“Well, I fancy having a shower and getting something a little less comfortable on. Then you can buy me dinner and find out if you like me as much as my body.” Draco was still smirking as he left the studio with a happily stunned Harry following behind him. 


End file.
